By the end of the class, I'd learn how to warm down to a song written for hand-bangers and how to read a clock backwards. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for when I decided to take a Spinning class at the gym the other morning, but it was a good workout. Good, if you're training to be chased by a herd of rhinoceroses. But really, I'm just hoping not to spill out of my swimsuit this summer. I thought I was being clever when I hid my cell phone in a towel on the handlebars of my Spinning bike before the teacher came into the room. I figured I could surreptitiously text people back during class. But that was before I met Alan, the substitute teacher who would maintain a mood for the class that can best be described as Your-Rear-Tire-is-Ablaze-and-There's-a-Large-Puddle-Ahead. And you can't text when you're desperately trying to keep up with Alan.